


your gravity pulls me in, but you're an ice that burns

by evynessence



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Also they are having dating problems, CaBenson, Elliot is mentioned, Established Relationship, F/F, Fighting, Like they physically are sparring, Olivia is emotional and Alex is going through it, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25962910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evynessence/pseuds/evynessence
Summary: Alex is prone to cold looks and icy retorts, like a frozen tundra with subzero winds threatening to prick you with tiny icicles until you’re down for the count. She freezes anything that threatens to get close enough. But if Alex is ice, then you’re definitely fire- forcing people back with hot glares and hotter words, people don’t approach, lest they get burned -and when you orbited each other, there was never an immediate threat of what you could do to each other.But now? Now you’re simultaneously orbiting and slamming into each other at once. Burning and freezing and melting and cooling.
Relationships: Olivia Benson/Alexandra Cabot
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	your gravity pulls me in, but you're an ice that burns

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write these lovely ladies for so long and three months (and 11 SVU seasons) later, here we are!! I got this idea from some Korrasami fanart (that if I find again I will link!) and I just had to write it. 
> 
> (Also, for clarification purposes, Olivia is using MMA style gloves!)

You’re fighting. At least you think you are because you haven’t spoken to Alex directly in days and the only time she opens her mouth while you’re in the room, her words are directed elsewhere. Elliot doesn’t call it fighting, he calls it icing each other out. Something he’s convinced Alex practiced for years along with the cold hard glare that earned her the moniker of Ice Queen. 

You don’t care what Elliot thinks- except for when you do -but he has a point. She hasn’t so much as looked in your direction in days and after spending so long in her direct orbit, being on the outside feels a bit like the biting winter air. 

So you do the one thing you can think of and slam your fist into the red pleather bag in front of you. It lets out a satisfying  _ smack _ . Sweat trickles down the nape of your neck and sides of your face, the air hanging thick and hot around you with each passing minute. 

It’s an odd hour of the day to workout- not quite evening yet but too far past afternoon -and you’re happy your schedule hardly aligns with that of a normal person’s workday. No one needs to see this breakdown. If there are tears mixed in with the swear coating your cheeks, that’s no one's business but your own.

Taking to punching the bag is a solution reserved for only the most stressful things. Once upon a time, it was a perfect outlet after talking to your mom about working in SVU- those emotions would swirl and fester, and the sooner you could get them out, the better -or after a particularly hard case. Sometimes talking to Elliot about a shared experience did little to ease the stress, and there were only so many times you could talk to Huang about the terrible things you witnessed before you felt like a broken record. Now, it seemed, you could add fighting with your girlfriend to the list. 

You can even pinpoint the exact moment everything had begun its tumble downhill. Most cases light a forest fire of burning emotions within you- sadness, anger, pity, outrage -but after some distance from the case, you’re able to get your emotions in check. But this case? Three straight days of racing against the clock to make sure the sadistic bastard didn’t claim any more victims? It left you seeing red for days. 

And maybe it was the high emotions and lack of sleep that made you more prone to snap. Or maybe it was the fact that the perp was taking his next victim in mere  _ hours _ and you didn’t have time to sit around and discuss the logistics of the United States Judicial system. Or maybe it was something else entirely. 

But Alex made a viable argument about warrants and deception and evidence being admissible, and all of the fortification you had in place to keep your emotions in check, came apart in that instant. At Alex. In the form of angry, scalding words that tore through the silence of the station like a scalpel in flesh. It left you flustered and breathless, and Alex’s face had pinched momentarily. If you didn’t know to look for it, you would have missed it, because her unbothered mask slipped on a moment later. But you  _ had  _ seen it. Had seen the surprise and hurt evident on her features. And before you could take it all back, she stalked from the room with a clipped  _ “call me when you actually have something” _ without looking back.

You slam your fists into the bag, again. And again. And again. 

Elliot might have been onto something, you think, as the punching bag is thrown off balance and you lunge to steady it before it falls. 

Alex is prone to cold looks and icy retorts, like a frozen tundra with subzero winds threatening to prick you with tiny icicles until you’re down for the count. She freezes anything that threatens to get close enough. But if Alex is ice, then you’re definitely fire- forcing people back with hot glares and hotter words, people don’t approach, lest they get burned -and when you orbited each other, there was never an immediate threat of what you could do to each other. 

But now? Now you’re simultaneously orbiting and slamming into each other at once. Burning and freezing and melting and cooling. 

It’s far too many metaphors for your liking. You know Alex would like it, though. She might even slip you one of her special, reserved-only-for-Liv, smiles, and her remark would be less biting than normal. But she’d have to talk to you or  _ look at you _ to do either of those things. You feel the helplessness rise in the back of your throat. 

You slouch against the bag, blood thrumming in your ears and tears falling freely from your eyes now. You know when to call it a night. The way your chest is heaving is a dead giveaway. You pull the gloves off, flexing your fingers out of their clenched position, and make your way to the locker room. 

You pull your bag from where it’s lodged inside your locker and move through the rows to check if anyone entered during your workout before you kill the lights. There’s still a few hours before the night owls are expected. 

You’re near the exit when you hear it. The faint sound of heavy breathing and pounding against the mat down the hallway. The backroom opens up directly from the hall into a makeshift sparing room, but with the crazy hours you work, you’ve hardly ever seen it in use. 

So, it’s much to your surprise when you go to investigate and see Alex sparring with an officer twice her size you vaguely recognize. Your first thought is that Alex- the ADA for the unit, but not a member of the police force -shouldn’t be using the precinct’s gym. Your second thought, that quickly overrides the first, is that you’re glad she’s there. It isn’t because her spandex leggings hug her curves in all the right ways, or because you can see through her loose-fitting shirt to the taut muscles of her torso. No, though, those reasons  _ are  _ high on the list. 

You’re glad she’s there because watching her lunge and block and dart around her opponent is so  _ easy _ . At this moment you exist separate from one another but within the same moment. There are no pressing matters of justice. No one is in need of Detective Benson or ADA Cabot. 

Alex’s fist collides with the pad her opponent has over his own hand, her ponytail swishes with the movement and sweat trickles down her face. There is no ice blocking you out. There’s nothing on her face but naked determination. 

You’re just Olivia. She’s just Alex. 

Until her stance shifts and she notices you hovering by the door. Her face changes instantly, contorting into a mask that has no kind edge. Alex stops moving and just stares. 

You’re happy, for a moment, that she’s forgotten about ignoring you enough to look at you. You’ll take the icy glares over not seeing those beautiful blue eyes any day. That happiness shifts into dread the longer you stare at one another. She still isn’t talking to you.

Raising a hand lamely, you say, “Hi, Alex.” You nod to her partner whose name you still can’t recall when he turns. 

“Benson!” He greets you cheerily. What is his name? You rack your brain and almost miss his next words. “Didn’t see you there. Want to spar with Alex? You’re more her size and height.” 

Before you can even begin to explain why that’s a bad idea, he’s taking his equipment off and stepping off the mat. You don’t know when you retrieved your own gloves or dropped your bag, but you’re standing in front of Alex in a blink.

She regards you with her signature icy glare as the two of you begin to circle one another in an unspoken  _ “begin!” _

“Listen-” you begin, but immediately stop as she takes a swing at you and you stumble back to avoid it. 

She takes advantage of your stumble and advances on you with another swift punch. It collides with your shoulder. You block her next attack with some fancy footwork, dancing around the edge of the mat and just out of her range. 

“I was trying to say something, Alex.” 

Alex ignores you and tries to land another hit that you avoid easily. Irritation makes itself known in the slight twitch of her grimaced lips. 

“I don’t think throwing punches is the best way to solve our problems.” 

When she’s unable to land another hit, Alex huffs and narrows her eyes. “No, you’re right.” Happiness bubbles in your chest despite her icy tone. She’s finally talking to you again. “Maybe we should just yell at one another, Olivia. That seems like a perfect way to communicate.” 

You narrowly avoid getting clocked by a nasty looking right hook. Instead, you catch her arm and pull her back flush against your front. “Alex-” 

She twists in your grip. Your mutually sweat-slicked skin makes escape almost imminent, and she kicks your right leg out from under you. Your knees hit the mat and you roll out of the way before springing back up. 

“Alex,” You try again, catching her gaze with your own. “I’m sorry!” You duck out of another onslaught of punches. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. It was  _ not _ okay.” You hope your apology sounds as genuine as you feel. 

Alex smiles. It’s small and if you blinked you would have missed it. The tiny quirk of her lips. And then she’s lunging at you. 

“I know,” She says after you’ve fought her off, yet again. 

Her blatant regard for your feelings has you blinking in surprise. Will there ever be a time where she doesn’t have that effect on you? Probably not. 

“You know?” You repeat. “You’ve been ignoring me for days!” 

Alex dances around you and catches you in the shoulder again. “You yelled at me, Liv. Just because I knew you were sorry doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.” 

You raise an eyebrow, understanding flooding through you like a tsunami. You stop dead. “You were waiting for me to apologize.”

Alex shrugs. “Some recognition you blew up would’ve been nice.” Her foot swings towards your stomach and your arm goes out automatically, catching it before it collides with your body. You pull up. 

Alex tilts back, losing her balance and colliding with the mat. There’s a moment of clear surprise on her face before she smirks and pulls her leg towards her chest. It catches you off-guard and you go tumbling down on top of her. 

In a flurry of movement, Alex knocks you to your side and pulls her body over yours, straddling you against the mat with her arm pressed against your throat. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to know you’ve lost. Her eyes are full of a triumphant fire- it’s the same one elicited from a  _ guilty  _ verdict in the courtroom, or guessing right while watching Jeopardy. “I think this is the part where you tap out.” 

You swallow thickly, knowing she’s right, but instead of tapping out, your hand moves to trace the line of her face, from cheekbone to chin. “I really am sorry, Lex.” 

Her eyes soften. “I know. Thank you. I’m sorry, too.” 

You want to ask why she’s sorry when you’re the one who blew up, but your hand has a mind of its own as it bunches in the front of Alex’s shirt and tugs down. 

And then you’re kissing. 

For the first time in what feels like forever. She melts against your mouth like kissing you is an exhale after a long day and you’re lost in her. The feeling of her mouth against yours. The smell of her rose shampoo and sweat. 

You’re orbiting one another and colliding to create stars and supernovas and beautiful creations other people will look up to see in the night sky. It feels right and you smile against her lips until she pulls away and smiles back at you. 

Alex pokes a padded hand at your chest. “I still won, even if you didn’t tap out.” 

And maybe it’s her smile, or that she’s talking to you again, but you have no problem with that. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know your thoughts and don't forget to leave Kudos!


End file.
